A Chance Encounter
by The.Melanarchist
Summary: The early stages of Aragorn's search for Gollum take him through Mirkwood, seventeen years before the Fellowship forms. Amidst an orcish plot to lash out on the elven hold there, he meets Legolas Thranduilion for the first time. Legolas' own family suffers recent tragedy, but darker forces are stirring yet. Can a budding friendship overcome inescapable odds?
1. Setting the Scene

**(A/N) Hello all! This is going to be a short fic set during Aragorn's search for Gollum. Seeing as that took him near Mirkwood, and so much of Legolas' past is unknown, I wondered, could they have met then? Legolas' family aside from Thranduil is also shrouded in mystery, so I made use of creative license. Anyways, here it is: A Chance Encounter.**

**Disclaimer: I definitely don't own, so don't sue (I don't have much to sue for~).**

**Special thanks to Toomanyobsessionstocount for beta-ing, go check out her stuff if you can!**

* * *

_**CHAPTER ONE**_

* * *

Aragorn knelt in the tall grasses beside the river. His eye traced a familiar and altogether unique print in the dried mud, a print so well hidden beneath the ferns that it would go unnoticed by most trackers. The toes were pressed in deeply, the ball of the bare foot had formed a shallow valley, and the depressions ahead were dappled in an arrangement calloused fingers might've made. The entire set of tracks hardly gouged the surface of the riverside silt, meaning the creature that had left them was light for its size.

Undoubtedly, Gollum had passed by this very point.

However, there was a problem with the finely preserved prints. The ranger stood, sheath clinking at his side, and ran a hand through his choppy hair. This particular bank had been subjected to a drought for over a month and a half. The River Running was barely flowing, only a couple meters deep where it should have been six or seven. For the mud to have been fresh when the prints were made… Aragorn was easily three weeks or more in travel behind his quarry. What he had stumbled upon was hardly a trail; it was the barest hint of passage—too old to be of any use.

He sighed softly, and shifted closer to the stream to fill his water skin.

When Mithrandir had asked him to search out the creature, he had thought it a complement on his tracking skills. The twinkle in the old man's eye and the confidence he had expressed was assuring, almost indicative of a short venture. Now, it seemed, the lazy Istar was simply pushing his dirty work elsewhere. It had only been a short five weeks since he had ridden from Imladris, but his high hopes were quickly diminishing.

Strangely, in all his seventy years of life, he had rarely spent so long without speaking to a fellow creature. The nagging regret was lacing into his stride each and every day. Originally, he'd been adamant about traveling alone; turning down offers from many an elf to accompany him. He made much better time this way, he had reminded them. Yet, now the lack of company was loud in the silence.

The leather from his canteen was damp from the river, and he quickly capped it and tossed it into his pack. Setting his sights northward, he made way along the River Running towards Lake Esgaroth. The tracks had been leading him this way for the last few days, and the meandering path Gollum had taken led the Dúnadan to believe Gollum had yet to discover he was being hunted. Time would be working with him if he made haste along the grassy riverside.

Perhaps his halfhearted attitude towards his quest was due to the heaviness of the enchanted forest to his left, but it felt like more. There was a darker feeling to the air, something far more sinister than the tangled branches of Mirkwood. And the feeling of evil presence was not solely in his head, either. He'd narrowly avoided several orc packs already, surprised at how close they dared come near the Elvenking's Palace. And despite the fact that he was no elf, the continuous rustling of the trees made the forest seem just as restless as he was.

It was at that moment, when he stood poised, listening, that he heard the distant thud of a heavy tread.

The footstep was a pounding cadence, and he quickly realized that it was the sound of many approaching. Aragorn was no fool. If they were coming from the south, it was likely another pack of orcs. He broke for the trees, snapped from his frozen spell and scrambling skillfully into the undergrowth. The Mirkwood forest here was compact and uninviting. Whoever was approaching would not try to enter the woods near the copse where he lay hidden.

His head was ducked low in the brush, hand grazing his hilt, and body tensed like a bowstring. Several minutes more passed this way, with the sound of trudging growing louder until it filled his ears. The first shape trekked over the slight hill to his right, feet dragging and chest heaving, lugging a rusted broadsword over its shoulder.

Orcs again.

Silently, Aragorn cursed his luck. This was the third time he'd run into the filthy creatures by pure coincidence just this trip. For such a short span of time it was unheard of. It concerned him how active the darker forces had become, and now watching beast after beast pass in front of him so well armed and massive in number, he knew something was amiss. This was no simple orc hunting party, nor was it a patrol this deep into elven territory. It was a small army. The crude jeering amongst the brutes was mostly unintelligible Black Speech, but the Westron ungracefully interjected here and there gave the ranger some idea of what was going on.

"_Gologrim _will fall this day," One with a dreadfully misshapen head grunted.

"_Mirdautas vras!" _Another agreed with a shake of his spear as he passed within reach of the concealed human. Aragorn recognized only the word for 'elf' amongst the spat jargon, and he clenched his teeth in restraint. The audacity of the foul beings had grown to the point of an organized strike.

The beasts were heading for the crown jewel of the Woodland Realm, Mirkwood, itself.

The Dúnadan waited as patiently as was possible for the orcs to pass. However, the sheer numbers they had agglomerated were staggering, and he was unable to get any feel for exactly _how_ _many_ were geared up for the attack. There was no organization to their trooping, only a dirty mass of rotting flesh five across in places and twelve across in others. A solid few minutes after they had trickled onwards, leaving a path of matted grasses in their wake, Aragorn had decided on a course of action.

Gandalf's request would be postponed, for he needed to warn Mirkwood of the looming violence marching their way.

He knew the Silvan elves had a reputation for their incredible skill in battle, but the quantity of orcs present would be enough to crush any small force of the most adept fighters. Without proper fortifications, the Wood elves would shed much blood even if they emerged victorious.

But, if the orcs followed the River Running until the more distinct entrance into the woods, Aragorn might reach the Elvenking's Halls quicker through the forest. He'd only been inside the palace once prior, and passing too close while unwelcome was dangerous even for him. Still, he was certain that he could locate the Halls if he made good time.

Boots gracefully skipped over protruding roots as his hands batted away a tangled web of branches, immersing himself deeply within the thickets of Mirkwood. The air always felt denser within, and the light fluttering through the branches was found far and in between. The entire sense was one of full isolation. A stifling solitude.

While the forest gave the impression of never having been touched, the ranger knew elves traversed this section regularly, and his tracking mindset took over. Keen eyes picked out the slender traces of light-footed passage, and he was gliding along them without a second thought.

He only hoped that he would make it in time.

* * *

_*Gologrim*—"elves" (Black Speech)_

_*Mirdautas vras*—"It is a good day to kill" (Black Speech)_

* * *

**_An hour earlier**_

The underground hall was bare, and the mottled brown of the tree trunks appeared stony instead of radiating its usual warmth. Beautiful as it was, it was missing the old joy that had once flooded it.

"_Adar_, I'm taking a circuit today." Legolas stiffly addressed his father, fully garbed for guard duty. His daggers were strapped at his side and his bow neatly tucked over his shoulder, lying across his well-worn quiver. Much like the hall, he was resigned where he would have been jovial.

"No. You stay here." There was no room for argument in the Sindar's command as he stood, back turned to his son. He gazed across the elegant expanse of the pillared hall without so much as another word Legolas' way. The autumn crown adorned his golden hair and his robes were graceful where Legolas' were functional. The archer felt as if the differences between them had never been so stark.

"Very well, _adar_."

He took his leave with a short bow and retreated down the empty pathway. He knew his father's eyes were not following him, yet it still seemed as if his feet echoed all too noisily on the hard stone.

_If he won't even look at me, then why can't I leave?_ The prince thought sadly, his foot stabbing the ground harsher than necessary. But he knew why his _ada_ had such difficulty holding his gaze. He looked like _him_. Like Elidyr.

_"Legolas, get down!"_

_The blonde archer ducked a wide swipe of his foe's club, thrusting a dagger into the midsection of the offending orc before twisting to hack at the knees of another. His immediate vicinity was clear enough to sheath his blades and notch two arrows. The bowstring was pulled in a heartbeat, and the shafts flew true, striking two more enemies square in the forehead._

_"_Hannon le_, Elidyr." He called, freeing another bout of perfect bulls-eyes._

_The orc pack had sprung out of nowhere, attacking the exchange in the area with the worst footing. Now, just beyond the settlement of New Laketown, their party was marooned on the rocks, backs against the fast flowing banks. Though many an orc had fallen, there were a minimum of twenty remaining and he was running out of arrows. A few of the men from Laketown were wounded, and a couple had collapsed. Now, Legolas dearly wished that more than two elves had been requested to carry out the protection of the trade route. It wasn't long before it was just Elidyr and himself fighting a losing battle._

_The orcs were beginning to close in once again, and Elidyr retreated nearer to his side, blonde locks flying as he wrenched his knife out of an adversary's stomach. The sooty blackness of their blood encrusted both the elves' blades, spotting their clothes and dirtying the rocks in stinking puddles. _

_Legolas loosed his final arrow, managing to nail two orcs at once—one through the heart, another with a nicked lung. With no other option but closed ranged combat, he tossed his prized longbow to the ground and whirled forward, daggers wickedly fast yet never quite fast enough._

_Elidyr was right beside him, in the thick of the black fleshed walls. The two attempted to remain side by side, but were quickly forced apart by the need to evade the ubiquitous swords crashing down in deadly arcs. Legolas knew his back was undefended, so he tried to keep moving. He was pressed into making creative blocks, spinning a few low kicks, and springing up again. He was tiring, and from the panting only mere feet away, he knew his brother was as well. It was simply too much._

_It was the moment when four bent blades were swung in unison, that Legolas knew he would only be able to avoid one, and block two. The rudimentary fighting style of the orcs had accidentally brushed upon a moment of brilliance—for there was no path he could take, no technique he could enact, that would allow him to escape injury this time._

_There was the ricochet of two swords rebounding back to their owners, the hiss of one slicing air, and—_

_ And the squelching sound of metal sinking into flesh._

_Instead of the flaring pain of cold iron ramming through his back, Legolas felt the soft weight of a body leaning heavily on him. A whimper of pain. Against all fighting instinct, he froze. His heart pounded in his ears so loudly that he couldn't hear anything else._

_Legolas saw red as he turned, hand trembling around the grip of his dagger. Too afraid to see and yet terrified to look away. The orcs were puzzled by his delay, just long enough for him to meet the wide, unblinking blue eyes of his dead brother. Face permanently contorted into an expression of pain, an ugly orcish blade run through his heart._

_The light was gone from him instantly._

_ "_Muindor," _Legolas barely whispered the word, choking on it like poison._

_He stumbled backwards as the weapon was wrenched out of his brother's torso, the limp elf dropping to the ground like a lump of clay. His hands continued to shake as he numbly stared at where his brother had been propped up. His eyes unfocused and refocused, and when he finally came to his senses, he was staring directly at the orc that had slayed his kin._

_His hands stopped shaking._

_The orc had a dagger lodged in his skull before he could blink, black blood flecked across the clothes of his murderer. A cold, calculating terror had taken over Legolas' posture, and so much adrenaline was pumping through his veins that he cleaved through the orcs with renewed vigor. Anger and sadness and grief and _pain_ were ripping through him so terribly that he had reverted to death on autopilot._

_He hardly noticed when his foes began to fall to arrows. When he was left standing alone, drenched in the lifeblood of his enemies, he still took no stock of the comforting hand placed on his shoulder._

_"_Mellon-nin_, are you unhurt?"_

_The wreckage was absolute. A party of Silvan elves had come to investigate the duress signal all too late—the few men had been slaughtered, and now the crown prince of Mirkwood was lying among the dead._

_"I am fine." He lied, shaking off the hand to go find his brother's corpse._

He fingered the hilt on his sheathed stiletto, clenching the grip torpidly. It was the same weapon from that very day.

Legolas relived that battle too often, lately. Every night. Despite the passage of a year, the sharpness had not faded, and the emptiness had only intensified. It was a grief that every member of the royal family shouldered, but it was his burden most of all. It was his fault.

It must be the reason for his father's coldness. He knew, somehow, even if the Elvenking never said it aloud. Where they had once been so close, he was now almost entirely ignored. The rift growing between them felt like ice in his chest.

Sighing deeply as he found his way to his mother's chambers, the prince released his unforgiving hold on the dagger and gently rapped on the door.

"Enter." The voice of Lethonnel was melodic even when distant.

He swung the door in on its hinge and was welcomed into the arboreal alcove that his _nana_ resided in. The walls were like folds of cloth immortalized in wood, neat, perfect columns entirely unlike the current occupant's condition.

"_Ion-nin_," she called calmly, glazed hazel eyes seemingly unreachable.

"_Naneth_, how do you fare today?" He clasped her hand, as she lay supine in bed yet again.

"Fine, fine, my dear. How did it go with your father?" She was lying, he could tell. Her hand was cold to the touch, and her spirit felt weaker than the day before. The grieving was harder on her. She had cared for Elidyr for over a thousand years, whereas Legolas had only known him for the six-hundred years he had lived. It was always harder to part with one that was raised from an elfling.

"He is the same." Legolas admitted a bit guiltily, dropping his eyes to the floor.

"Is that so?" She had spaced out again, and he felt there was nothing he could do. She was close to fading, he knew, the awful grief was eating away at her life energy as he sat there. It always grew worse when he was there; even the healers had admitted so.

He swallowed his unspoken words and prepared to leave, the visit having already been too taxing for her. He made sure her form was well covered with blankets, smoothing her long brown locks out over the pillow.

Then he left.

His resemblance to Elidyr was a token to all, it seemed, of the tragic death. He would do some good to disobey his father just this once and take an evening patrol. Even though his _naneth_ and _adar_ dealt with their loss in different ways, the pain of seeing the deceased each day probably felt like salt in the wound. They would all be better off if he went unseen for a short while.

After all, there would be a celebratory feast tonight. It was Mereth-nuin-Giliath, and the autumn dinner should not be dampened by mortal reminders. _Hearts should be light on such a day_, he tried to convince himself as he approached the main gate. He passed elves arming for the pass off between circuits, those who appeared saddened by the prospect of missing the banquet.

While his own heart felt both leaden and empty, Legolas' conscious lifted a little with his decision. The forest would do him well, for he had neglected the trees as of late, and the space would be welcome within the Elvenking's halls. He adjusted the strap on his belt, aligning his sheathed daggers properly.

The prince allowed a short smile to warm his face, calling out to Anildor, the patrol's commander.

"I hope to join you all today." The Wood elf's eyes brightened, but proceeded to flash mischievously.

"I do not think you are _supposed_ to, _mellon-nin._" The mock-scold was light, and the response, a mere shrug, taken wrongly for rebellious nonchalance.

"Are you coming back to your old self?" The jovial chuckle was enough to be permission in Legolas' eyes, and indeed it was. "We follow you, my lord." Anildor gestured forward, in higher spirits with the added company.

They exited the underground, a party of fifteen, into the forest of Mirkwood.

* * *

_*Adar/Ada*—"father" (Sindarin) _

_*Hannon le*—"Thank you" (Sindarin)_

_*Muindor*—"brother (blood)" (Sindarin)_

_*Mellon-nin*—"My friend" (Sindarin)_

_*Naneth/Nana*—"mother" (Sindarin)_

_*Ion-nin*—"son" (Sindarin)_

* * *

**(A/N) So that's chapter one! I have the entire plot outlined, and I'm aiming for four chapters, but it might flow over into five. As my first attempt working with LotR, I'd very much appreciate feedback, so pretty please review! Any kind of critique, or compliment drives me to write faster, so tell me what you think! Thanks for reading, I'll update soon!**


	2. The Meeting

**(A/N) So here's part two, as promised. I sincerely appreciate everyone who has reviewed, fav'd, and followed. Seriously, you guys make my day. The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies trailer is released, and I'm ecstatic. Can't wait for the movie! Anyways, please drop me a review and tell me whatcha think :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own J. R. R. Tolkien's wonderful world, nor do I Peter Jackson's lovely movie renditions. (If I did, the last Hobbit movie would still be called 'There and Back Again')**

* * *

**_CHAPTER TWO_**

* * *

Legolas let the whispers of the trees wash over him, pleased with the tidings from the West. A slight breeze lazily brought the contented murmurs of the woods towards them as they walked, soothing his nerves considerably. Mirkwood was painted in hues of gold and brown, lively even in late autumn. The space was refreshing, and the prince felt relieved of the oppressiveness that weighed on him in the underground halls.

The elves he traveled with were amicable, quiet with the focus peculiar to their race. Meticulously organized in ranks, the blonde led five rows of three silently through the trees. They shadowed the familiar patrol trail, flying through branches with the grace of natives, reaching out with their senses and questioning the trees for signs of enemies.

Halfway through the designated route, Legolas slowed his pace. The sun should be setting somewhere above soon, but the dusky grey light in the forest would remain for a while yet. The trees had begun to mumble in confusion, still a slow, drawling noise. When expanding his senses further, Legolas caught it.

A faint life force was rushing towards them—and if it had not been going so quickly, the party of elves could have likely missed it.

"Wait." Legolas held up a hand to the others, bow drawn and arrow notched with lightning speed.

The light shuffling of feet ceased as each elf anchored themselves to the trees, boots nimbly finding notches and cracks in bark to take hold of.

Legolas' eyes followed the quiet, dark shape that approached. As he neared, the shape revealed itself to be a man, well-armed and at home among the forest.

_A man that moves like an elf_. Legolas noted soundlessly, surprised when the human's hands were raised in surrender. Not many would have the skill to sense the hidden warriors' presences, yet blue eyes had met grey almost instantly. He had seen them and despite that continued to approach.

* * *

Aragorn was relieved when he chanced upon the elven guard. He had been afraid he wouldn't make it in time.

"Who goes there? You pass through Silvan territory." The blonde elf called down from the trees, clearly the one in charge. There was an air about his words that was both challenging and unfavorable, if the arrow pointed at his heart was anything to go by.

"A friend." Aragorn's confident voice rang out in the woods, "I bring ill-tidings from the East."

The ranger kept his posture open, unthreatening. Placating arms remained elevated, and he made no move to touch his sword. The gesture served its purpose, and the head elf's instant analysis deemed his appearance curious enough to warrant a closer look. The immortal let his grip on his bow fall lax and descended lightly, soles padding softly against the soil. The others quickly followed him.

"We have no friends in the East." was the wary reply, spoken steadily in the lilting accent of the Mirkwood elves. Cool blue eyes were questioning and defensive, and the Dúnadan wondered at the woodland creatures momentarily. The elvenfolk here were so different from those residing in Imladris, that he found the militant greeting entirely un-elf-like.

"I bear the recommendation of Lord Elrond."

That seemed to get his attention. The elf's eyes narrowed instantly.

"Then you should know the names of his children." _A test._ Aragorn wanted to roll his eyes. They hardly had time for all this, while orcs were approaching en masse.

"The twins are his eldest—Elladan, and Elrohir, and then the fair Arwen, and yours truly. Estel, at your service." A short bow left his interrogator silent.

"The Dúnadan." He observed faintly, nodding as if his story aligned. "What bad tidings do you bring?"

"An army of orcs march in this direction. They could easily arrive within the hour." Many of the elven faces hardened upon the dark prediction, but worry was struck on the leader's countenance. He cursed in the elven tongue.

"Anildor!" A brunette stepped forward upon the call of the other, the order barked so clearly that concern had laced into his expression as well. "Are you not among the fastest here?"

"Yes, _mellon-nin_, but you should be the o—"

"Warn the others. Have the gates closed and a perimeter fortified immediately." The protest of the underling was not lost upon Aragorn, even when he gave a reluctant nod.

"_Hir-nin_, you are not _supposed_ _to be here_. Return to inform the King yourself." The hushed words were barely audible, the brunette leaning towards the blonde's ear. Nevertheless, the ranger looked on with mild interest in spite of the looming scenario. _Hir-nin_? That title was reserved for royalty.

"Fly swiftly." There was no further room for debate.

"You don't enact a perimeter under normal conditions?" The human couldn't help but sound incredulous—this region was hostile territory, after all.

"It is the eve of Mereth-nuin-Giliath." The elf responded with a grimace, "Our guard is down but twice a year."

"There are too many of them for that to be coincidence." Aragorn's brows were knit.

"How many?"

"Around two-hundred, but there may be more."

Another scowl.

"Preparations will take too long within the halls. We have to buy them more time." A thoughtful look flit across his features like a shadow, "You believe they have entered where the Forest River meets the tree line?" Aragorn gave a stiff nod.

"It's got the best footing for so many."

"I hope that you stand correct. I plan to intercept them." The ranger blinked as the elf barked an order to his companions, making way for the stream. He didn't know what possessed him to do so, but he followed alongside.

"That would be suicide." His tone was a far cry from polite, but the Captain of the Guard didn't seem to care.

"It may be our only chance to form an attack. If we draw them towards the Mountains of Mirkwood, we may stand a fighting chance yet."

"There are fifteen of you!" His outburst garnered a pause, and an assessing gaze.

"Estel, there are several thousand elves within those halls. Half of them are probably drunk, the other half not even touching their weapon of choice." The human could only see resolve in the blonde's eyes. "You have done a great deed for our people, and we expect no more from you. Seek refuge within the halls or vanish. Orcs do not spare men."

"Nor do they elves. I'm coming with you." His decision was made on the spur of the moment.

If these fifteen had been willing to forfeit their lives so quickly, he was going to make their fight worth something. The Wood elves were different, yes, but they were still kind-hearted creatures of the light. And something more, he couldn't quite place.

The party was in the trees again, flying with admirable speed.

"Upon sighting we provoke and run." The elvish was hissed amongst the rustling of branches, "If they don't follow we circle around to hold their attention. If they do, we dip south and head for the ravine beside the mountain pass." _A ravine_. So he had not yet accepted death as inevitable. Aragorn was steadily getting a picture of this elf's priorities, as well as the half-built strategy that was so quickly formed.

If they could make it to the mountains, which were still a ways away, perhaps a large number could be baited into a trap—not to mention the benefit of having the higher ground if they did reach it first. It was the best option available by far, and if Aragorn was given a fighting chance he would take it.

"I never got your name." His stride pulled him even with the fair-haired frontrunner.

"Legolas." He was given a nod of respect from the elf, those steely blue eyes sparking with anticipation for the battle to come.

A knot of anxiety was twisting in his own stomach, but the determination of Legolas and the others pulled him along like a tide. If their positions had been reversed, what wouldn't he have done to save his own home? How far would he be willing to go?

His answer was right beside him; composed as a predator, eyes trained ahead. Crazily, it was enough to get Aragorn reconsidering the suicidal plan itself. From the deadly serious look on the elf's face, it was impossible to tell.

_Who_ was about to be hunted?

* * *

_*Mellon-nin*—"my friend" (Sindarin)_

_*Hir-nin*—"my lord" (Sindarin)_

* * *

Legolas had yet to feel alarm gripping his chest, but he knew that if he were to stop and contemplate it would seize upon him like a disease. There were few moments like these where the act of doing was simpler than waiting. He knew his plan was hard-headed, and foolish. It probably wouldn't stall the army long enough to make any difference, but there was nothing left to do but try.

And the hope of reaching the cliff-side was enough to keep his thoughts away from the dark musings that taunted him._ Estel_, indeed. If it weren't such a dire situation, he would be laughing at the irony. Hope itself had just delivered news of destruction.

Though it was a useless sentiment, Legolas cast a sideways look upon the human daring enough to accompany them. At least Hope fought alongside them, and was not yet lost.

Now, the people of these woods knew their forest well. If they could fight among the trees, they might be able to hold off pursuers for the hour long sprint from this point towards the Mirkwood Mountains. It would be an incredibly tall order, but it may still be possible.

Where they were now, he could hear the trickle of the stream, and could see the break in the branches ahead. The trees were mumbling to themselves sinisterly, unsettled by what lay nearby. His ears perked up when he realized that the forest was silent. The usual buzz of insects and stirring of creatures had halted eerily.

"_Daro._" He quietly commanded his companions, bow pulled taut with three arrows notched already.

They reacted instantly, forming rough lines in the trees. Even the human pulled his recurve bow out, eyes scouring the stretch of forest ahead. It wasn't long before the dark skins of the orcs broke through the brush.

Without hesitation, Legolas loosed his arrows.

The creatures fell dead before they even sighted the concealed elves.

"_Push-dug glob!_" The insult was spat heatedly, as the others came upon their skewered kinsmen. Their dim, murky eyes sought out their attackers, perched high in the trees. The arrows were suddenly flying without respite, the _thwish_ of release audible amongst angry battle cries in Westron and Black Speech alike. The shafts of elven make struck home again and again, methodically knocking the torrent of beasts back.

More and more fought their way forward, the corpses beginning to pile up haphazardly. Yet there was no end, and the foul-smelling beings had begun to fire their own rough arrows in return. Their foes had lousy aim, but the quantity of projectiles guaranteed that some would hit their mark.

"We have to fall back now!" Estel shouted to his side, intercepting an enemy's arrow with his own. Legolas' nod of assent was all he could spare, loading and reloading his bow with the speed no other elf could match.

"Break for the pass!" The organized line of archers now thundered through the trees, turning and picking off the orcs that came too close. When the young brunette—Elrilith, Legolas remembered— tarried too long, a shaft struck him in the calf.

He cried out as he slipped from the tree limb, foot misplaced. Legolas had only just turned his head, when he saw the _ellon_ immediately overrun by orcs. Maces, axes, and swords tore the poor creature apart within seconds. It was so feral that the prince felt bile rise in his throat.

Still they did not stop. They could not stop.

Swifter than any orc, they bounded through the trees, shrieks of death and fury following them. When the trees grew sparser as they neared the mountains, they ran. Hard leather boots pounded into the rocky soil, clambering up the slight incline with the din of pursuit roaring in their ears.

It seemed the full force of orcs had taken their bait, but Legolas didn't feel so lucky. The chase they gave was vicious, no-holds-barred. Live or die. The closer they got, Legolas could _almost_ think of entertaining the hope that he could live past this day. But that was before they hit the clearing.

It felt like they had been running for ages when far less time had passed. The unshakeable order of the elven guard had slipped into frantic exertion. The forest broke, and evening light dappled the greying rocks underfoot. Legolas found himself out of breath for the first time in many years, but he had enough presence of mind to make for the ravine quickly. The drop off of the cliff face was sudden, immediate, and their only weapon to balance the odds against so many. Already, his quiver felt too light for his liking. Against his better judgement, he tossed a look over his shoulder.

He really shouldn't have.

The prince had thought that the endless plucking off of their pursuers would have made a considerable dent in their adversaries' power. But there were far more than he had thought. Of the two hundred Estel mentioned, Legolas thought fifty had to be lying dead, strewn over gnarled roots and cracking leaves. But the army held strong, a single legion trampling the brush as they left the forest. An intimidating mass of ugly, disfigured faces wielding nasty, iron tools. The blood-letting had hardly begun.

Suddenly he felt he had failed again. In a futile attempt to save others, he had managed to lead the few that relied most heavily on him to their deaths. He cast a short look to those that followed him. Bright countenances were now steely and exhausted, slower than usual and grim as the mountains that towered over them. Estel alone seemed full of energy and confidence where the others neared despair.

Head shaking to dispel his pessimism, Legolas set his sights on the barely visible shift in elevation that stood landmark to the deep ravine carving through the mountainside. To either side were boulders and stone that traced the base of two jutting mountains.

"_Gwaem!_" Upon command, the elves sharply turned to their right, so close to the edge that he could spare a glance into the dark pit, an enchanted stream glittering at the bottom with the last rays of day.

The shade was cast in long strokes across the craggy ground, and soon, the people of the light were scaling the low precipice to gain the higher ground. With wit enough to protect as many of the undefended backs of his party as he could, Legolas fired arrow after arrow to intercept and take out the projectiles of the orcish archers. When the first elvish bowmen reached the apex, a good ten meters above, Legolas began his own climb.

The enemy army had eaten away at their lead considerably, and a blade was already whizzing past his ankle as he picked his way up the rock face. There was something to be said for Wood elves with high ground, though. Formation spotless and aim unerring, the orcs nearest to the precipice never stood a chance.

* * *

_*Estel*—"hope" (Sindarin)_

_*Daro*—"stop/halt" (imperative conjugation of 'deri') (Sindarin)_

_*Push-dug glob*—"stinking filth" (Black Speech)_

_*Ellon*—"male elf" (Sindarin)_

_*Gwaem*—"Let's go!" (Sindarin)_

* * *

Aragorn blinked the sweat from his eyes, picking out his next target. The orcs closest to the edge of the pit were stumbling and toppling in, stunned by their unexpected change in terrain. His aim was not as perfect, nor as rapid as that of the Silvan elves, but it was during times like these he was grateful to be competent with a bow. The Dúnadan knocked another two orcs back from approaching the stones below. It was no good, though. After a couple orcs scaled the wall they would be flooded all too quickly. They had to scale back to a higher point. Already their advantage was waning.

"Half of you must fall back!" A progressive retreat was the only way to keep the orcs at bay long enough.

A lopsided bolt of wood whizzed past his head, and Aragorn reached for his quiver to silence the source. His hand grasped uselessly at air instead of the feathers that finned his arrows. He was all out.

The guard had begun to retreat to higher ground, and Estel tossed his tattered bow to the side. Unsheathing his reliable sword, he prepared himself to hold their current position. The enemy numbers remained far stronger than the elven party, but their ranks had dwindled significantly. In fact, both sides had lost a considerable amount. He scowled as he hacked at a hideous, dark head that peered over the ledge. They were coming faster now.

The volley that his allies kept up was slowing, fellow archers falling with mortal wounds and maiming ones. It helped that many orcish shots ran high, but too many hit home. When the last of the elves were able to scramble to higher ground, the ranger found himself standing side by side with Legolas. The blonde's own quiver held a single arrow, his bow slid over his shoulder, and twin daggers resting in his palms.

He was given a sharp nod of acknowledgement before the orcs were able to take the lower boulders.

It was all Aragorn could do to keep up with the writhing mass of enemies that twisted around them, his sword clanging metallically off of armor and weapons, clipping flesh and severing limbs. The blonde archer was wicked with his duel knives, occasionally saving him from a tough bind by tearing across the undefended backs of his adversaries. With the flash of the white hilts aiding him in the dimming light, Aragorn wrenched his sword out of the stomach of another beast.

An arrow sprouted from the neck of his nearest foe, and he turned to the orcs that had targeted Legolas' back. Using the long reach of his blade, he unleashed a deep gash diagonally across another's torso and sidestepped the swing of an iron-tipped club. Using the flat edge of his sword, he pushed the offender off-balance and took advantage of the opening to brutally separate its head from its body. It felt like his heart was pounding in his ears, and his arms ached with the exertion, but Aragorn managed to fight on.

It was dark now, the moonlight faintly illuminating the flash of metal, or the reflective eye of the nocturnal orc. It was only upon a lull in the tidal wave of orcs that Aragorn realized something astonishing.

They were winning.

It had been a long while since the orcs had met with the bedraggled line of remaining archers, and those that could manage best in hand-to-hand combat were still standing. Most all quivers were empty, the trill of elvish shouting clear above the garbled grunts of orcs. From his current position, Aragorn could only account for four of the original guard fighting on—he did not dwell on those lying cold on the bloodstained rock. They were all weary and slowing, the lithe grace of their technique failing as century old reflexes tired.

Victory stole upon them unawares. It was when the battlefield lay ripe with stinking corpses and rivulets of black blood that true silence filled the air, marred only by the panting of the conquerors. The forest was a black silhouette, the solitary figures that remained upright stumbling towards one another.

"For Mirkwood!" An elf's voice cracked with exhaustion, his wise face marked with scratches and blood.

Half-hearted murmurs of agreement followed, pride in some countenances and sadness in others.

"Come near the fire." The familiar timbre of Legolas voice beckoned, a flickering of red light licking across flint and wood. Shadowed figures were illuminated with the dancing flame, and Estel found himself cautious to claim relief.

Had ingenious strategy and unerring skill really led such a small force to victory? It was impossible that they still stood, yet they did. Five of fifteen.

Eleven casualties against two hundred.

* * *

**(A/N) Thanks for reading, part three'll be up soon! Comments and criticisms are welcome, by review and PM! Thanks for reading!**


	3. The Very Short Long Road

**(A/N) Hey. I know this part took a bit longer than the last, but I'm content with how it turned out. Thanks a ton to everyone who reviewed, alerted and fav'd . I sincerely appreciate your feedback! Please drop a review for this chapter~ it keeps me going.**

**Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own. All important characters belong to the wonderful mind of J. R. R. Tolkien.**

* * *

_**CHAPTER THREE**_

* * *

Legolas tossed another orcish corpse into the flames, watching numbly as the fire ate the scorched flesh away greedily. They needed the light, so it was only logical to begin cleaning up the rotting mess the battle had left behind. The first priority was to find the fallen elves. However, it was the search for the commander of the dark army that had the blonde prince awake and sifting among the dead so doggedly. His eyes were glazing every time he kept still for too long, but he had to solve the mystery of _how_.

How was it that _this_ degree of an organized strike was able to form right under their noses? It was the precise timing that had Legolas' mind really reeling. If he could find hard evidence that it was coincidence, and not information that caused this raid, then it could be assumed that another ambush might not occur. But if they had known, then there was reason to be uneasy. Orcish spies so close to the Elvenking's Halls were a bad enough issue, but thorough knowledge of their holidays was something few humans knew of, and something no elf would dare expose to a possible enemy.

Nevertheless, scouring the hackneyed garb of his enemies for important markings was exhausting after such an ordeal. His limbs were leaden, and his mind weighed down with ghastly visions of war even worse than their intense skirmish. When he came upon the sprawled, still bleeding body of an elf, his heart constricted sorely. Twenty meters from the fire, the thrashing light was cast mutely, leaving a soft glow tinting the wraithlike skin of the deceased.

He knelt beside the pale face, gently turning it to respectfully prop the body and view the identity of the fallen. Dark locks were slicked back with black blood and sweat, and the bright eyes had slipped shut, a sight so wrong to see on the immortal. It was Khiiral, a proud and headstrong fellow only a century older than himself. With regards to the others, he was practically an elfling. To be left with such an empty shell in his stead, the prince's throat ran dry and his hands clenched.

It was then that Legolas realized with a start that the skin was still warm under his fingers, the _ellon_'s eyelashes fluttering over high cheekbones.

"Come quick! He's still alive!" The nearest to him was Estel, and the human sprang towards him faster than the elf thought the race was capable.

In the low light, Legolas' eyes sought out the injury that was the cause of the elf's red-slicked tunic and ghostly pallor. Quickly he found a stab wound to his midsection, and hastily pressed his bare hand to slow the flow of life-giving fluid. The crimson seeped between his fingers, and he was swiftly tearing strips from his tunic to better stem the outpour. The cloth was quickly drenched through.

"Several of his vital organs have to have been clipped." The man was delicately lifting the afflicted up from the rocks, checking his back. "And there's an exit wound here. Quick, turn him on his side so we can properly bind it before he bleeds out." Legolas complied, ripping more cloth and lifting Khiiral's sark in order to get a better look at the puncture.

"_Asca_!" He shouted to the remaining figures rushing in his direction. "You must return with herbs and treatment as swiftly as you can." His hands were full, but upon glancing over his weakened companions, Legolas realized they would be of little help. None were healers. His gaze softened. "Many of you need a trip to the healing ward yourselves. We will handle this as best we can. Send for healers upon your return."

He sensed reluctance from the three, but assured them once more that the two would make do until help arrived. They would have to leave immediately to return within the next five hours, and the prince wasn't sure how long Khiiral would last. Moving him successfully would take far longer and breed much more trouble.

"_Hir-nin_, I must persist in trading positions with you." Talis, a longstanding member of the guard, gave a respectful bow, his shaded brow furrowing with discontent.

"If he asks, tell the Elvenking that I am unharmed." The blonde endured in his decision. Talis would be of little use in this situation, whereas Legolas had _some_ knowledge of healing—even if it wasn't much to speak of. "Go now. I know you are all tired, but you must make haste."

The hesitant Wood elves took their leave, disappearing behind the wreathing smoke of the putrid fire.

Turning back to the fading elf before him, Legolas caught a curious glimpse from Estel's dark countenance before the human was back at work as well. His fingers drifted to his belt only to come back empty.

"I've lost my healing pack somewhere." Estel cursed, "Does athelas grow in these woods?" The prince gave a noncommittal noise, his hands tying stiff knots in the fabric to tightly wrap Khiiral's back.

"It does, but only in certain places. It would be near impossible to see at this hour. My concern is sealing the wound. I suppose you had disinfecting materials as well?" The Dúnadan sighed.

"Indeed. It may be his best chance if I search for it. It may have fallen nearby during the fighting." Bloody hands ran absently through his hair, but Legolas was reaching for the flap of his right boot.

"I've only got needles and thread, but he's lost so much blood. We have to seal it now, infection aside." He tugged the embedded needle from the leather, unwinding a thin black thread partially before leaning over the injured elf to get a look at the torn flesh.

"There's going to be some degree of internal bleeding. Stitching him up might not do any good." The human's tone was grave.

"If we don't try it now, he is going to die!" Voice slightly raised, Legolas moved to undo the temporary bandages on the elf's front that were steadily growing damper.

"You're right." The strips of fabric were slid away, revealing inflamed, ruddy skin serrated messily along a narrow stretch of his abdomen.

"He's failing. I can feel the light leaving him." The thin metal tip broke skin as he began to line a neat row of stitches along the pinched skin. Estel wiped the blood away as he worked, but the gush of crimson kept the process slow-going and discouraging. By the time the puncture was sealed on the front side, both their hands were caked with drying blood and Khiiral was barely holding on.

When they shifted him slightly to work on his lower back, a groan escaped the archer's lips. Stunned, Legolas found clear brown eyes trained on him, still bright in the glow of the distant flame. The moment of lucidity was passing already, short convulsions rocking his body as he begun to choke on his own blood.

Estel was right: there was too much internal bleeding to save him now.

"_Hannon le_, _mellon-nin_." He grasped the limp arm of the fading elf in respectful salute.

Khiiral's eyes widened, his mouth forming words that could not be heard. It was as if he was looking at something far behind them, and Estel leaned in closer to lend his ear.

"What's he trying to say?"

"Or—_orch_." The word was a hissed whisper, the last word of a diligent warrior.

Legolas reacted instantly, spinning around into a crouch while notching the last arrow in his quiver to his bowstring. Arrow released promptly with a _thunk_, the lurking orc was caught mid swing. His short sword was already twisting down as he stumbled, the shaft lodged between his eyes.

Estel's reaction was not so favorable.

He turned slowly, perhaps not taking the warning for what it was. As the approaching beast fell forward with the weight of his swing, the human was in the process of standing. The rusty blade flailed once, catching the ranger in the left calf before the heavy body of its owner slammed into the ground.

It had all happened so fast.

* * *

_*Ellon*—"male elf" (Sindarin)_

_*Asca!*—"Hurry!" (Sindarin)_

_*Hir-nin*—"My lord" (Sindarin)_

_*Hannon le, mellon-nin*—"Thank you, my friend." (Sindarin)_

_*Orch*—"Orc" (Obviously XD)(Sindarin)_

* * *

Aragorn felt a flash of hot pain blaze up his leg. One moment he was fighting for an elven life and the next there was a tarnished blade stuck in him and a dead orc freshly fallen. It was too quick to comprehend. The spiking nerves in his calf were complaining, and he knelt back down to examine the deep gash.

"Finish stitching his exit wound." He grunted to Legolas, nodding his head towards the collapsed elf. Instead, the blonde gave a short shake of his head.

"He has passed into the Halls of Mandos." Just as the words registered, the elf was swiftly at his side, squatting down to see the protruding weapon. Estel knew it was inescapable, but the sadness was still sweeping. The weight of the passing soul distracted him from the prodding fingers, that was, until the sword was wrenched out of the muscle with a sickening sound.

"Oi! Give me a little warning, would you?" Aragorn hissed as his vision spotted from the sudden influx of renewed pain.

"I'm going to remove the blade now." Legolas deadpanned, his left hand pressing a cloth hard against the exposed laceration while his right prepared another needle.

"Not exactly what I meant." The human let out an exhausted chuckle, cut off by a wince as his skin was sewn back together through the wide tear in his pant leg.

"At least it's not too deep." The blonde hummed, squinting in the flickering dark as he finished his work.

"Yes, I'm lucky like that."

When the only evidences of Aragorn's injury were a clean row of stitches, some blood stains, and pallid skin, the quiet had enveloped them again. The crick of insects fell like an intermittent veil upon their gory field of battle. The red light wound through the bodies and layered the silence with solemn gravitas. The ranger felt exposed out there, in the only clearing for miles with a bonfire clearly signaling their presence.

"I think it's a bad idea to stay here much longer." It would be deep into the night by the time the others had returned with help that was no longer needed. The light and the decaying carcasses would draw curious predators that hunted at night. Any remaining orcs would surely be crawling around the area. Just as their surprise attacker had chosen the moment to strike, any others might surface.

"I agree," Legolas stood, tiredness lacing into his posture. "But can you walk on that leg?" Despite the elf's dubious tone, Aragorn shuddered to his feet. His leg protested, muscles stretching uncomfortably where the cut had severed nerve connections. It wouldn't take his full weight, but a heavy limp would do for now.

"Not very quickly, I can't, but I think I'll be able to hold on for a few hours."

"Hopefully we can meet the healing party half-way." The absent thought filled the air as Legolas hefted up the dead elf to lay him down next to the others. Aragorn slowly followed him as he made his way nearer to the edge of the rocky clearing, favoring his right leg.

It had only been half an hour since the other elves had left, but the sun had long left the sky and the woods were blacked out in a shadow so dense that Aragorn doubted they could find their way blindly. He hefted a sizable branch from the underbrush, breaking off the excess stems. He wrapped a dirty cloth around the wider end, knotting it a couple times until he held a make-shift torch. Limping over to the immense blaze still burning in the center of the clearing, he dipped the wood in to catch fire.

"Light draws the spiders in." Legolas supplied helpfully as he dusted his hands off, leaving dark red smears across his pant leg.

"I'll put it out if it becomes a problem." Estel shrugged.

Now that the two of them were alone, Aragorn took a better look at his current companion. Blonde hair draped over a narrow build, shoulders tensed and weary, clear blue eyes flashing in the cracking glow of his torch. There were traces of amusement in an otherwise solemn face, and Aragorn got the sense that he might be a cheerful person if the world hadn't pushed him into blacker circumstances. Nevertheless, the elf had been decisive and brilliant in battle, demonstrating kindness and forethought towards his comrades. The ranger was rather intrigued by him.

The human found himself on the receiving end of an equally calculating gaze.

"We need to get moving." The blonde stated, tossing an apologetic glance towards Estel's wounded leg. He made a noise of agreement as they slowly trekked forwards, winding into the undergrowth and twisting amongst trunks.

The dense canopy of leaves blotted out whatever scant moonlight may have illuminated their path. Instead, the small sphere of firelight let them see a mere several meters ahead. The completeness of the night flexed at the bounds of their vision and despite never having feared the dark, Aragorn felt uneasy. The light made the night seem inky, their eyes unable to adjust. Still it was better than nothing, so Aragorn plodded on with the pain in his leg dulling to a throb.

Contrary to the edginess in his posture, Estel felt comfortable with the elf's steady presence.

"Can I suppose that you are one of the Elvenking's renowned sons?" He pressed casually, voice low amid the sound of cicadas. It was almost imperceptible, but Aragorn saw Legolas' form stiffen.

"Lord Thranduil has but one living son." was the particular reply, carefully spoken after a short pause.

The human realized that he'd touched upon something deeply personal and swiftly backtracked. The stress on '_living_' was all too obvious, and Aragorn felt bad for prying.

"I'm sorry."

"It is no fault of yours."

_That_ sentence was loaded with hidden sentiment that the ranger couldn't decode. Somehow resigned, it felt like it assigned blame. However, it was not his business.

Their slow gait had taken them only a very short distance, yet the torch was already half-way gone. There was no way they would reach Mirkwood within the night if they did not chance upon the healing party, Aragorn realized. He was holding the other back.

"You can go on ahead, if you like. I'm slowing you down." Estel was quite anxious to fill the awkward silence that had grown as well as shift the conversation to a different focus. To his relief, there was melodic laughter.

"And leave you to fend for yourself in this forest? Wounded and defenseless? You wouldn't last an hour." The jab was lighthearted, and Aragorn knew his leg would be inconvenient anyways. He was glad for the company. "And we all owe you gratitude. Who knows what may have happened if you hadn't warned us?" The mood had turned ominous again.

"I don't like to dwell on things that could have been." Aragorn hoped that Legolas took the underlying meaning in his words for what it was. "What-ifs only haunt and torment."

"That they do." The elf's words were idle; noncommittal.

They both stilled, legs frozen in place, arms slipping towards sheaths.

There was rustling.

A quiet, heavy movement that was both sluggish and sinister dragged itself through the woods. It sounded like a soft rush of leaves, paired with a rhythmic tapping of bark. But Aragorn felt no breeze.

"Put out the light." Legolas hissed under his breath, swiftly unsheathing his daggers. The metal glittered against the torchlight until the human ground the brunt of the flame out in the dirt. The smoke sizzled upwards and they were plunged into darkness.

"Giant Spiders?" He guessed, drawing his own sword in a less than perfect stance. He was unsure how quickly he would be able to move over knotted roots when even now his calf was screaming from the light exercise. Fighting with two hands would be near impossible, his footwork suffering.

"The light bothers them. If it's in their power to smother, then they will come."

The sounds came nearer as the travelers' eyes adjusted. Estel was beginning to pick out faint outlines of tree trunks, the white patches of fabric on Legolas' elven tunic, and the glint of the other's eyes. It was still a murky kind of black, but the human got a distinct impression that the branches a distance away were wavering. It was as if an unwieldy weight sat upon the wood, sinking lower as the tree strained against its burden. The masses undulated forwards like a wave.

"I don't know how many there are. We need to get out of here." Estel whispered, feet tracing the ground a bit clumsily in the opposite direction. Between the leaves he knew a full moon shone, and here and there white rays trickled through. He grimaced as he forced his leg to take more of his weight, following Legolas' chosen path away from the arachnids.

The elf was nimble and healthy albeit tired, so when he kept Aragorn's irregular pace, the human felt warmth grow in his heart. The swift-footed prince should easily be out of this sudden pursuit, blending into the night as only elves can do. Though he was vague and private, Aragorn already found him fiercely loyal and compassionate: someone he had quickly built camaraderie with.

The strange fondness he felt was not enough to blind him to the present circumstances; the sly hums of chase were mounting into a louder, more obvious scrambling. They were inching closer, partly due to Aragorn's dragging footfalls. His gait was lopsided and imprecise, and so he dreaded each rough struggle of his left boot in the dirt. The scraping sound it made was far from subtle. Still he pushed his leg to carry him faster in their chosen direction, trailing the wisps of Legolas' fair hair as he flit through a gleam of moonlight.

Several minutes later, they struck upon a small, circular area with relatively even ground and fewer trees. The canopy still choked the starlight overhead, but the branches were further spread and slightly thinner. Shreds of an idea had already sprung about in the human's head when Legolas slowed to a complete halt. His eyes caught Aragorn's clear, grey ones and he knew their thoughts aligned.

They were going to be caught either way, but the prime footing here would give them the slight advantage of surprise if they struck first.

Now the pursuers were so near, Estel could guess at how many. Lucky for them, it was not a massive horde, hunting from a nearby nest. Instead, three or so of the beasts were tracking them alone. It was a manageable number; or at the bare minimum, not the worst that might have befallen them.

* * *

Legolas' fingers itched for his bow, but his quiver was light and arrowless on his back. He wished now that he had bothered to retrieve a few shafts from the dead orcs by the Mountains of Mirkwood instead of hastening off to meet the healing party. Those few minutes of searching would have saved them the trouble of hand to hand fighting while unfit and weary. He had no doubts that he would have easily finished the pursuing Giant Spiders, even in the dark.

Instead, his carelessness had placed them both in unfortunate positions.

Estel's blade alone was visible in the thick shadow that spread from a nearby oak, faintly glossy in the dim light. The blonde was also propped up against a tree trunk in wait. At the edge of the treeless region, it was at this point that the spiders might dismount from their high place in the branches.

There was the guttural hiss and clack of the foul being's communication, only a few meters off, and the elf knew that their pace had slowed. They were cautious now, perhaps thinking that their prey had eluded them. With eerie grace, hairy stalks wrapped themselves around a nearby tree, quietly descending until Legolas could get glimpses of a bulbous body and beady head. The other two hung in wait, just out of reach, with many dull eyes scanning for movement.

The bulging mass of the first arachnid crept into the clearing, nearer to the human's position than Legolas would've liked. Just as it passed the Dúnadan's concealment, the flashing sword struck out and cleaved through three legs within reach. A terrifying screech squawked out before Estel drove his sword into its brain.

Legolas sprung out from his own hiding place as the other two spiders let out wicked calls like metal raking glass. The ranger was panting and wincing, and the elf made for him as their foes clambered down and leapt towards the man that had drawn first blood.

He had just made it in time, pushing one vicious stinger away from his midsection as his right hand blade stuck and twisted within the exposed underbelly. He detected the creature falling limp and heavy against him as its body twitched and stilled, and yanked his dagger away. The bony legs curled in as he pushed the spider forward onto its back.

Turning to find what had become of the final attacker, Legolas saw Estel narrowly beat the being away, sword ricocheting off of a hard patch of exoskeleton. The elf lashed out at the lone beast from behind, clipping one of its thick limbs to gain its attention.

His maneuver was poorly timed.

As the spider wrenched its body around with unexpected speed, Legolas' tired legs were slower in backtracking. He found himself being pushed backwards and thrown into the forest floor by the massive load. Underneath the globular bulk, the elf had scarcely crossed his short knives to block the deadly stinger from plunging into his heart. The force of the impact hammered into his shoulder, the joint exploding in agony as a loud pop separated the bone from its socket.

Legolas saw white sparks, gasping as hot fire burned his right side.

He was conscious of the creature thrashing above him and ceasing with a sudden jolt. The carcass was quickly rolled off. The jar to his shoulder made him curse, fingers clenching in his opposite hand.

"I can't move my right arm." He grit out. "I think it's dislocated."

"_Rhaich!_" The human muttered, his tongue forming elvish as fluently as any native.

Estel was suddenly crouched at his side, feeling the already swelling joint gently. The elf could make out a dark frown when his eyes were not clenched in pain. His shoulder had been dislocated before, but the searing nerves would never be so easily forgotten. He cried out but once when the human took a firm grip of his forearm and cracked it back into place. The intensity of the torment washed over him anew, but after the joint was relocated it dulled considerably.

"A warning would have been nice." His voice was hoarse, and still filled with pain while not nearly so much. Still, the ranger's scowl was now a half-smile as he helped the prince sit upright.

"I'm going to set your shoulder now." The human joked half-heartedly, seemingly relieved that they had come out of the ordeal alive. The elf's sigh turned into a snicker. Experimentally, he tried to rotate his arm, wincing at the pinpricks of pain that scorched up his arm when he raised it too high.

"You won't be using your bow for a while." Estel was carefully tearing a sleeve from his jacket, using a slender knife to rip a long hole down the center. Using the material as a sling, he fit it around the prince's head and wedged his arm in the gap.

"Hn." The elf grunted in protest, hating the feel of the sling already.

"So you're one of _those_ kinds of patients." The human's voice carried amusement at the growing frown upon the other's face.

"I cannot imagine that _you_ are much different." Legolas countered, pulling himself to his feet. "How does your leg fare?"

"It didn't take well to running," the human admitted, "I think rest might do us both some good."

"So much for intercepting the healing party." The elf adjusted his sling awkwardly, "Yet, I do feel as if I could sleep for days. It will be safer to travel come morning." As the two were in agreement, they set off to search the immediate area for a suitable resting place. Half the night was spent already, and they were practically dead on their feet. Injured, exhausted, and alone somewhere in the Mirkwood forest, they stumbled forward through the gloom.

A half hour of meandering found the two in front of a towering White Oak, with a tangled hollow of exposed roots below. The cage-like enclosure was as secure as they would be able to come by, and Legolas conversed softly with the wizened tree.

"He will wake us if anyone approaches." The elf sounded pleased, easing himself into the shaded crevice.

Neither of them fancied the idea of trying to climb for safety, or risking another fire, so this arrangement worked well enough. Sore and exhausted, they only spoke a few words before drifting off into a well-earned slumber.

* * *

_*Rhaich!*—"Curses!" (Sindarin)_

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**(A/N) Thanks for reading, and again this will probably be five or six parts. Thoughts? Comments? Please review!**


	4. The Return

**(A/N) I'm sorry this part took so long to put together, but I've started college classes, and I'm swamped. On the other hand, I really like where we are in this story, so it was fun to write. So, please R&R!**

**This chapter contains my 200,000th word archived with Fanfiction! The word is 'Detached'**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Aragorn, or Legolas, or Thranduil. I wish I owned Mirkwood, but I wouldn't write about it if I did...**

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_**CHAPTER FOUR**_

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They awoke to a meager light bleeding between the fat roots of their sleeping place. It was a dusky grey outside, but altogether more inviting than the pitch dark had been the night prior. Now, Legolas could see the vine covered trunks clearly, getting a better idea of where they were. Upon pulling himself off the ground and ducking his way through the roots, the elf took stock of their location.

They were much further from Mirkwood than they had been at the Mountains. The wild flee from the spiders had pulled them further south and put them in a much worse condition. The walk afterwards to find the tree they slept under had carried them farther east as well.

There was a heavy sigh to his right. Estel had also woken, and was peering up through the branches.

"Half the daylight is already gone. We should've woken sooner." The ranger pointed out; though he still looked incredibly tired and weary. His posture was slumped, and he held his leg gingerly.

"Perhaps we should search out athelas before we make our way back." The blonde suggested, doubtfully eyeing the other. It would be a long return trip, all things considered.

"For that and game. I've lived off the land for weeks now, and all my initial provisions are gone." The human added in, and Legolas had to agree that he was growing hungry. He had forgotten about food. If they were going to be hunting, he needed both arms free. In that case, he began to shrug off the makeshift sling that had remained in place while he slept. But when he tried to pull the fabric over his head, there was a hand blocking the movement.

"Leave that on." How it was possible that the human thought he could instruct him, Legolas didn't know. He deigned to arch an eyebrow that conveyed more than a little annoyance.

"It's only a bit sore. I need both hands."

"It's not going to get better if you don't allow it to." The elf had rolled his eyes at the famous words every injury earned. The human only grinned. "I know how it feels. My brothers would always get me into unfortunate situations. More often than not I was the one stuck with the sling."

"Or a crutch?" The prince's blue eyes darted to the wounded leg of the other.

"Yes, that too." Estel openly conceded. "Once 'Ro tricked me in to reorganizing Erestor's books. When he found out, he was furious, so naturally I was in a hurry to get as far away from him as possible." Legolas found the fond story reminiscent of his own elfling days, spent chasing Elidyr around the palace whenever his brother wasn't busy. He hadn't even realized he was smiling.

"Then 'Dan proceeded to approach me and give me his 'expert' advice on hiding places. I was very young, and somehow was coerced into believing he had nothing to do with Elrohir's prank. Believing him was my first mistake, but staying the night in a tree was my second. Elladan made out Erestor's anger to be so deadly that I'd rather sleep fifteen feet above ground than face it." There was laughter in the Dúnadan's voice. "In the middle of the night, I rolled over in my sleep, fell, and broke my arm."

Now they were both laughing hard.

"When I got back to the House, I found out that Erestor's anger was hardly anything more than his usual, surly attitude." The human added between chuckles. "'Ro and 'Dan were sorry, sure. But they still teased me for weeks afterwards." It was such a boyish tale touched with the sparks of a close-knit family, that the elf felt his spirits lifting.

It was almost like the time Elidyr had—

Legolas killed the train of thought instantly. His guard had been down, and now the memories stung like unshed tears.

His smile fell and his eyes dipped to the forest floor as they walked. Estel had been so open with him that it felt wrong to shore up his defenses again, so Legolas attempted to blot out the flash of blades and clang of battle that took his _muindor_ from him. Still the sounds from that day repeated over and over again like ghostly echoes. The prince's brow furrowed as the dark thoughts took over.

What could he have done? What could he have changed? He should have—

"Sorry." A soft voice reminded him that Estel was still beside him, and Legolas blinked the apparitions away.

"For what?" He regained his composure quickly, playing off his lapse in attention.

"You know what." The ranger gave him a gently stern expression, one Legolas felt confused by.

"I'm sure that I don't." He contradicted lightly, now fully engaged by the human's puzzling attitude.

"You are too proud for your own good."

"And you're remarkably cryptic for a human." That earned him an ironic smile from the other.

There was a pause as they met each other's eyes questioningly. Estel seemed to be groping for words.

"Sometimes, I feel like we are already friends." Legolas blinked, shaking his head slightly in discomfiture. He wondered briefly at what brought on the bout of seriousness. "But you were just zoning out, and we both know why. You don't have to talk about it, but you can't pretend it doesn't exist." The human's tone was not accusatory, but it was unexpected enough that Legolas bounced on the defensive.

"I might be wrong, but I thought it was my business and not yours." Legolas snapped sharply. He was growing impatient and more than a little uncomfortable with the turn in conversation.

Their exchange was scaring off potential game, anyways. It was a tense silence, but gradually the sounds of the forest returned and they trudged on. The elf hefted a sigh and ran his uninjured hand through his hair.

"I apologize." He spoke quietly. "You have been nothing but kind to my people. I should not have grown angry with you."

* * *

_*muindor*—"brother (blood)" (Sindarin)_

* * *

"It is fine." Aragorn could see the blonde visibly relax upon his forgiveness. He used the opening to clear up their earlier confusion. "I said I was sorry because my story made you upset." He watched the elf's face carefully. The prince opened his mouth as if to protest before he thought better of it, steely eyes flashing down again as if they could conceal whatever melancholy thoughts plagued him.

Their feet padded quietly along the gnarled floor, Aragorn's leg dragging softly in the dirt when it wouldn't pull his full weight. It was a calming pace; very slow, yet companionable.

The ranger was allowing himself to be taken in by the forest, appreciating the odd beauty of the thick trees curling over their path and the paper-thin, autumn leaves that were colored in shades of maroon and gold. He was honestly taken aback when Legolas spoke.

"He died because of me." It was said in a small voice, smaller than Aragorn thought the other was capable of, and the blonde's face was hidden in the afternoon shadow as his head was bent down, shoulders hunched.

He was hurting.

And it shocked Aragorn to realize that it hurt _him_ to watch.

He instantly felt bad for prying, and even worse for coaxing an admission out of the elf.

"Was he killed by your hand?" The prince's shoulders were trembling, but besides the slight shake, Aragorn would have next to no clue to his emotional state.

"No, but—"

"Then he didn't die because of you." Aragorn interrupted firmly. The human recognized guilt when he saw it, and Legolas was filled with so much remorse that he was appalled he hadn't seen it before.

"He was protecting me!" Legolas' clear voice cracked, lost eyes finally meeting Aragorn's. His appearance was so broken that the ranger was nearly speechless.

"It was his choice." The human managed, his only thought to erase that look of desperation from the elf's fair face. There was some progress made, as doubt was now the dominant expression present. The blonde's eyebrows were knit in skepticism.

"No one chooses death. If I wasn't there, he would still be alive." The stubborn elf was hell-bent on blaming himself.

"There is no way that makes it your fault." He could see how much Legolas needed to believe it, how his spirit was slowly being crushed by it. This was how elves faded, how grief sapped at their life force until they couldn't go on. If the blonde kept it bottled up for so long, he would be gone before anyone thought to ask what was wrong.

"He was a lot like you, wasn't he?" Aragorn tried again. "You were willing to die for those in Mirkwood, willing to sacrifice yourself for something you cared about. Your brother had the right to make that same choice." He was pleased to see Legolas falter, if only slightly.

"It was my mistake to pay for, not his." The pale face was closed off again, obstinate as ever.

"I just hope you realize that if you _could_ do it over, he'd probably make the same choice all over again."

That statement struck home, those widening eyes the only reaction on an otherwise defensive countenance. Estel was encouraged by the growing silence, and he let Legolas think it out. If he came to terms with it himself, then that weight might finally lift off his shoulders.

Aragorn couldn't help but look at his companion in a different light now. He'd assumed the elf to have been royalty, yes. He'd even found out that his brother was deceased. But for the self-assured, determined being to be hiding the awful burden of guilt, Aragorn had no clue. It humanized the superior creature more than any fake smiles ever could. Conflicting thoughts dashed across the other's face, betraying flickers of emotion that the human hadn't noticed before.

When he met the blonde's icy irises a second time, he found a small bit of relief in them.

"_Hannon le_, Estel." Was the genuine answer, lighter spoken than the ponderous argument prior. "That helped a little." Free of his stoic barrier, the blonde looked much younger, and much more vulnerable.

"Call me Aragorn." Estel answered kindly, feeling much better himself after Legolas had finally opened up to someone. "Estel is my elvish name, and I do not care much for it." The opposing cerulean eyes flashed with mirth.

"Mayhap because it is reserved for _ellith_?" The trill of laughter that followed made Aragorn smile in spite of himself.

"That might be it."

They walked on, a more contented quiet following. And even in spite of their injuries, they were able to sneak up unawares on a few small woodland creatures. The game was swiftly knifed and skinned, and they ate while Aragorn treated himself with the patch of herbs they had stumbled upon. After the brief respite they regained their wits and renewed their slow pace towards the Elvenking's Halls, trading jests and stories of days not filled with orc raids and spider attacks.

It was afternoon on the second day of travel when Aragorn risked another personal question.

"Won't your _adar_ be worried that you haven't returned yet?" The elf didn't seem concerned in the slightest about the awful time they were making.

His answer was a subtle shake of the head, and a satirical smile, empty of warmth.

"In this past year he hasn't seen me for weeks on end without reason. He won't worry." The elf sounded so sure of this fact, that Aragorn didn't push the matter. Instead, the human pressed his own pace to quicken. It sent spikes of pain up his calf muscles even with the aid of the rudimentary crutch they fashioned from a sturdy branch. The blonde didn't seem to notice the adjustment, his thoughts drifting elsewhere yet again.

* * *

_*Hannon le*—"Thank you" (Sindarin)_

_*ellith*—"female elves" (Sindarin)_

* * *

If someone had told Legolas a week ago that he would be fast friends with a human, he would have laughed at them. It wasn't simply the fact that few humans passed by Mirkwood. No, it had much to do with his lack of trust in general. It took a great deal for him to grow comfortable with another, and yet Aragorn was very easy to get along with.

It shocked the elf even further when he realized he knew next to nothing about him.

Estel shared many short, amusing tales of his childhood. They were great little stories that were pricks of light on an otherwise darkening horizon. But as to why the man had been so near to his homeland in such a dire moment of need, Legolas was stumped. Could it have been fate? The human seemed to fulfill some higher purpose, even though he was ordinary and amenable. The matter of his sudden appearance was puzzling enough for the prince to bring it up.

"If you hail from Imladris, why did you travel so deep into Mirkwood? It is the last place many wish to be." It was a casual question, one Legolas was frustrated that he couldn't figure out himself.

"I was in the process of completing a favor for an old friend." Aragorn shrugged half-heartedly, as if the mere thought of the favor made him tired. "It was a near impossible request, and I am glad for the detour, though not for the circumstances." Legolas nodded, seeing that the small fragment of information was all Aragorn was willing to give.

The two walked for the better part of a day, refilling water skins at a small, stagnant pond. It was the only water they would come upon until they could touch by the Enchanted Stream, so they reluctantly drank. By the end of the day, they had just struck upon the Old Forest Road.

"This is taking far longer than I expected it to." Aragorn muttered, casting a scathing look at his wounded leg.

"We will go as fast as we can manage. At this pace we will reach the Halls in a couple more days. Then we can treat your gash properly." Legolas shrugged, noting the inflamed skin around the other's stitches. They both knew that the torn flesh was infected, even with the repeated herbal treatments. Legolas' own shoulder ached dully, a swollen joint that he could hardly rotate properly, let alone work a bow with. They made a sorry pair of skilled fighters, and the sooner Aragorn could get his leg looked at the better.

The forest had fallen quiet since the battle in the Mountains, and Legolas hoped that meant no further trouble had befallen his hometown. The trees whispered cautiously, unwilling to pass along messages and altogether uneasy. The blonde was left to feel uncomfortable with the woods, and edgy with anticipation.

"Something feels wrong." Aragorn said precisely what Legolas was thinking. "It's in the air." The elf hummed in agreement. He glanced about them only to see the resolute woods untouched and unmoving. There was nothing to be nervous about, but the feeling wouldn't leave.

And so the next few, painstaking, days were spent limping and laughing and healing. The time came when Legolas knew they would reach Mirkwood and the five days spent with no one's company but Aragorn's felt like weeks and months. He was sore, and tired, and pained, yes.

But he felt happier and more complete than he had been for the past year.

"And Elrond kept them on patrol duty for a week afterwards." The ranger concluded his most recent addition to his seemingly endless supply of Elrohir and Elladan prank stories. The two snickered at the elves' mischief, and the sheer ridiculous nature of their tricks.

"Do you think you can manage a thousand more steps?" Legolas could see the short path that would take them to the massive doors at the end of their journey.

"I'm good for it," the human's breathing was only slightly labored, "but if I couldn't, would you carry me?" The immediate snort was answer enough. Estel's mouth quirked up at the edge as they neared the elvish dwellings. "I was just curious as to how you might deal with a denial."

"You were supposed to say yes as a formality," Legolas quipped back, "We are close enough that if you quit on me, you would deserve to rot where you stand."

"Remind me not to get on your bad side." Aragorn smiled, his grey eyes trailing ahead to see the intricately carved wooden doors arched with pillars on either side. A short bridge spanned over the Forest River, and Legolas never thought he'd be so happy to see Anildor manning the post there.

"Anildor!" He cupped his hands around his mouth, getting the armed _ellon_'s attention.

What the Captain must have thought when he saw them, Legolas didn't know. They were bloodied and weary, one in a sling, the other with a crutch. But Anildor's fair face split into a wide grin, and he was rushing out to meet them mere seconds later.

"_Mellon-nin_! You live!" He embraced the blonde tightly, pressing his shoulder hard enough to earn a wince.

"Of course I live!" Legolas smiled as he returned the hug. However, he was swiftly being tugged towards the Halls faster than his traveled feet could take him. He was mortified by Aragorn's smirk of amusement as he was yanked by the wrist like an elfling. In retaliation, he pulled on the sleeve of the Captain of the Guard.

"He needs a trip to the healing ward." Legolas gestured back towards the human with a smirk of his own. The ranger caught up via staff and added a reluctant nod.

"We can get to the ward by ourselves. Would you tell Lord Thranduil of my return?" Legolas lead Aragorn into the underground Halls, turning sharply down a cool, winding path that followed the natural stone. It felt so good to be back home, that he finally relaxed. That apprehensive sensation that had followed him the past few days was erased.

The occupants of Mirkwood had taken notice of the dirtied blonde and his companion, and they flocked to him donning various expressions of joy.

"We thought you were dead!"

"Are you okay?"

"Where have you been?"

The elegant voices of his kind were dancing about the room in confusion, and Legolas was too tired to follow them all.

"My friend requires attention." He gently parted himself from the crowd, Aragorn in tow as they found the healing sector of the underground.

The healers and apothecaries were quickly guiding them to cots and examining their injuries, much to Legolas' protest. He shrugged off the hand of a Silvan elf, retreating to an unoccupied corner of the room.

"Don't let him get away." Aragorn joked, "He dislocated his shoulder earlier. If you don't make him sit down, he'll pretend as if he were fine."

"I _am_ fine." Legolas insisted.

"He's also a hopeless liar."

"I am _not_." Legolas barked back, sounding like an infant even to himself. However, he allowed himself to be brought next to Aragorn to sit on a cot of his own. The ranger tossed him a condescending grin in jest, earning rolled eyes from the blonde. His shoulder was prodded and the sling was exchanged for proper bandages to brace it. Aragorn's foul cut was being cleaned and worked on as well, the skin red-rimmed and ghastly. It was a miracle that he had managed to travel as long as he did.

Legolas' attention was drawn to a sudden noise in the hall. A smooth, angry voice was bellowing around the corner and the sound of running steps followed haphazardly. The prince immediately paled and tensed.

It was his father's voice.

* * *

_*mellon-nin*—"my friend" (Sindarin)_

_*ellon*—"male elf" (Sindarin)_

* * *

Aragorn watched his friend carefully when the commotion in the hall signified what could only be the Elvenking Thranduil's presence. From the barely veiled fright in the blonde's eyes, the human was positive this assumption was correct. He was prepared for scolding, anger, joy, and relief—the things parents were known for.

But Aragorn did not expect what followed.

A head of pale blonde hair bolted into the room, the exact same color that graced Legolas'. Thranduil was tall, with striking eyes under a dark brow, and the ranger found him intimidating even while his attention was fixed elsewhere. The King wore dark, flowing robes that trailed along the floor, but the fabric lay ruffled as if from running, and paired with the slightly mussed hair, the elf appeared taken off guard and stressed.

He simply paused, wide-eyed gaze trained on his son and mouth parted in disbelief.

Legolas' open, joking demeanor had fled—leaving only an indecipherable, shielded one in its place. His shoulders were stiff, but his eyes were questioning and unmistakably dejected.

"_Ion-nin_, are you alright?" Thranduil's gaze had dropped towards the elf's heavily bandaged shoulder, and he finally approached the archer with fresh haste.

"It is nothing, _ada_. I am well." Legolas found a smile as they touched upon familiar territory. "I trust the others made it back safely?" But Thranduil was still scanning his son's being, as if in reassurance. He was strangely out-of-reach. Unconnected. Detached.

"What happened?" The prince's voice fell low and hollow. Thranduil had set a cool hand on his undamaged shoulder, but the Elvenking's gaze was intent upon him still.

"Lethonnel—" the King's words were emptier than before, expression frostier than any tone might convey.

"Your mother faded this morning."

* * *

_*Ion-nin*—"My son" (Sindarin)_

_*Ada*—"Dad/Daddy" (Sindarin)_

* * *

**(A/N) Thanks for reading. I'll get working on what should be the final chapter. Thanks to all who fav'd, followed, and reviewed last chapter, I really appreciate it! Please drop me a review, they make me write faster!**


	5. Reconciliation

**(A/N) Hi guys! Thanks a ton to everyone who has fav'd and followed, I appreciate it. So, this is the final chapter of this short fic! I really enjoyed writing this, and it was a good warm-up before I take a deeper dive into more LotR fics. So, alas, the conclusion!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything remotely middle-earth-like, I have a wooden sword? There are trees in my backyard...Yeah, so don't sue me for Tolkien's world. I seriously would let you know if I had it.**

* * *

_**CHAPTER FIVE**_

* * *

"Your mother faded this morning."

Aragorn could tell when Legolas didn't truly understand the King's words—even though his face betrayed nothing. Those crisp, blue eyes blinked once, his posture unflinching.

"What?"

"She is no longer with us."

"She—" It hit.

Raw disbelief shuddered through the younger elf's form. Aragorn averted his eyes. Grieving was private, painful, and awful to watch in someone he knew. There was a choked silence before Thranduil continued to speak in a softer, lower tone.

"We sent out search parties for you. There were signs of investigating orc legions in the area, and those elves that returned from the battle were half-dead on their feet." The Elvenking's voice escalated only slightly, but Aragorn could tell he had been convinced of his son's demise.

"After the third day with no news, even I—"

Aragorn definitely felt as if he were intruding now. He tried his best to focus on the apothecary treating his leg, on the sting of pain that came with contact, on anything _but _the tragedy that had just unfolded.

"I thought you were dead or…" The Sindar grimaced tightly, eyes slipping to his hand that was still clasped on Legolas' shoulder, "worse." The mental picture that single word imbued was unspeakable.

The King's affection was thusly concealed and exposed all at once. Aragorn was appeased by the care wrought in the other's carefully controlled expression, but his coping mechanism—feigned indifference—was only disproved by the nuances Legolas probably wouldn't see. While Aragorn watched, he could see the Elvenking enact restraint. With the younger's penchant for wearing blame, he would see that restraint as affirmation to the dark thoughts already running their course.

Legolas remained frighteningly unresponsive.

His eyes were downcast, firmly fixed on his hands. He wasn't shaking in the manner the ranger had seen him grieve before. He wasn't crying. He wasn't moving. There was nothing in his posture suggesting anything could be wrong.

The human watched as Thranduil's eyebrows crept together in concern, as those same eyes darted back again towards Legolas' bandaged shoulder. He turned after squeezing the blonde's arm once, possibly searching for a healer to update him.

That was when he noticed Aragorn.

* * *

Legolas felt nothing.

No, that was wrong.

He felt _emptiness_.

Some part of him—something important—was gone. A few words had voided everything his life was built around. What did it feel like to realize nothing was here for him anymore? It should be saddening, he should be broken. He should be angry. But in spite of what he _should_ feel, all the prince mustered was a sense of astonishment. Shock. Could his mother have really vanished? He'd seen her just a few days ago.

She was gone.

As soon as that thought stuck, the emptiness no longer felt hollow. It felt _hungry_, as if it were eating away at his insides and pulling him away from reality. He _should_ be frantically trying to stop this from happening. To stay engaged. To fight. He's good at fighting.

But he didn't care anymore.

Numbly, he was pulled from his thoughts as his father squeezed his arm. The elf was already turning from him in what had to be distaste. Without his _adar _evaluating him, he shuddered out a single sigh, feeling infinitely more drained now than during the journey. His slip was caught by the grey eyes across the room. Those eyes were pitying and hopeful.

Hopeful for what, Legolas didn't know.

But Estel had pulled the attention of the Elvenking away from himself, and it looked as if a conversation was brewing. The human's gaze still hovered on him, and even though the prince was hollow, he _hated_ the cross between fear and worry entwined in it. Aragorn shouldn't be afraid of anything. The danger had passed.

He forced a smile to his lips.

"_Hir-nin, _this is Estel of Imladris. He was the one that warned us of the attack." The words wouldn't come naturally, and they felt stiff and staccato in his throat. "Estel, meet Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm."

* * *

_*Adar*—"Father" (Sindarin)_

_*Hir-nin*—"My lord" (Sindarin)_

* * *

Thranduil internally cringed when his son transitioned into formal titles. His mind still reeled with the revelation that Legolas was alive. He gave a brisk nod towards the sad-looking human, mumbled what he hoped sounded like a thank-you, and made to leave. Legolas obviously needed space to grieve, and he needed space to think.

He shot another comforting glance at his son—reassuring himself that it was not a phantom that graced the healing ward, but a living, breathing Legolas.

And then he left the bustling area in favor of his quarters.

The last few days had been awful— and darker than any others in his thousands of years of memory.

He thought Elidyr's death had been a tragedy, and it was. It was a tragedy that they were all suffering through. He thought they would be able to pull out of the grief, he thought Lethonnel would eventually cease ailing, and he thought Legolas would return to his old self with time.

He had been wrong.

Middle Earth had pit luck against them, and misfortune after misfortune struck like sick coincidence. The _one_ time Legolas disobeyed him, shadowy forces circled and lashed out. Lethonnel could take no more heartbreak. Legolas was presumed dead.

He was alone. After thousands of years with his family, _he_ alone served to remember them.

So the reprieve of Legolas' survival plucked opposing chords within him. He was _so_ relieved that his greenleaf lived on, but his heart still ached with the loss of his beloved wife. All that came to mind were what-ifs. What if he could have comforted her until their son returned? If he sent out more search parties, would they have found him in time?

Fate was cruel and conniving: granting blessings and curses bearing nothing but irony.

He feared Legolas might have died. He could not sleep for the thought of his precious elfling being tortured. But all this time, he had not considered the wellbeing of Lethonnel. She was home. She was safe.

And now the reversal was true. Legolas was safe. Lethonnel had passed. They would have both been breathing if he had done his job—if he had _seen_ what he could do, what was in his power to do.

_"Captain Anildor has returned, _aran-nin_." The bridge-guard, Haewon, entered his quarters without so much as knocking. However, the alarm in the young one's face held back any reprimand the Elvenking might've had on the issue._

_"What news does the patrol bear?" It would be a pressing concern indeed if they had finished their route so quickly._

_"Not the patrol, sir, just the Captain." That thought was left with the Sindar as the aforementioned elf crashed breathlessly into the room—his feet echoing roughly on the cool, russet stone._

_"A massive party of orcs is on the way. They approach as we speak." The Silvan elf exhaled sharply, watching his king's expression compose itself._

_"Haewon, get as many elves as you can to form a secure perimeter. Cancel the feast, and alert all others to prepare for battle immediately." Though his tone brooked no argument, the young bridge guard appeared fazed by the sudden demands. "By my order, quickly!" Thranduil's eyes followed the elf as he fled the room._

_"Where are your subordinates? Do they come after you?" He now turned to the Captain of the Guard, brow knit with concern. The already pale elf blanched further under his gaze._

_"T-They plan to intercept the enemy army to stall for time. I was sent back as the messenger for my speed." The usually unruffled Silvan elf was beginning to speak quicker, his words running together. "I protested the decision, but—"_

_"Anildor, calm yourself." Thranduil was thoroughly confounded now, "No one should have outranked you. Who sent you back?" That moment was when Anildor's eyes dropped to the floor ashamedly._

_"It was Legolas, sir."_

_Thranduil's world froze._

_Confusion. Fleeting anger. Fear._

_"How many?" He finally asked, "How many orcs?"_

_"I am unsure. I left immediately after a human brought this news to us."_

_And so the first day of horrid waiting began._

_He convinced himself that he was furious. Why had Legolas forgone his decision? How dare the _yrrch_ intrude upon their territory yet again! But time passed slowly, and soon he was pacing. Could he march an elven force out to aid them? Where were they? What was prepared of their forces was needed at Mirkwood, though. Valar forbid that Legolas and his fellow elves might fall, and the perimeter would be required to act. No, he certainly had to play the King at this moment, and not the father_

_It was painfully late at night when three of the original patrol returned. The Elvenking was the first to ask of news, devastated that none of the survivors were his son._

_"Do not fret, _hir-nin_." Talis granted him a wearied smile, "He lives. He instructed that we send for a healing team upon our return."_

How_ that was supposed to assure him, Thranduil didn't know._

_"How severe is it?! Is someone tending to him?" He could imagine all too many awful scenarios, and against his will they began to play through his head like so many memories from ancient wars._

_"No, no, you have the wrong idea." Another exhausted elf put in, "_He_ is tending to another. Khiiral was in terrible condition when we left, and requires the fastest group we can send." _

_It was appalling—despicable even. The Elvenking was ashamed of the relief surging through his chest, _grateful_ that Khiiral was the wounded, and not Legolas._

_"He is well, then?" The Elvenking remembered to breathe._

_"Yes, _aran-nin_." There was a heartbeat's pause, " Yet, ten of our number have perished."_

_That number was made eleven when Khiiral's body was discovered._

_Thranduil had accompanied the healers himself, if only to catch Legolas before he turned in for some well-deserved rest. They chanced upon the pallid corpse of the brunette without encountering the solemn countenance Legolas surely would have been wearing._

_The elf lay neatly beside the others, so he must have been moved after death. There was more panic thumping against his ribcage as he followed the trickle of red that had likely dripped from the deceased as they shifted him._

_Where the drips originated from was obvious. The rocks were tinted a ghastly maroon, drenched thoroughly with elven lifeblood. Embers burned a ways away in what was once a bonfire, but now was only the remains of reeking corpses charred beyond recognition._

_They scoured the area for clues to the prince's whereabouts, and Thranduil was assured that there was another with him. The human. Neither of their bodies was found, so he prayed that they were returning, or perhaps sleeping through the night nearby._

_Morning approached, and in the clearing formed around the mountains, a faint light was drifting along the horizon. The glow was welcomed, but it only shed light on the grotesque battlefield. With the newer light, the dark maroon was a crimson mess, and awful to behold amidst the sea of black blood._

_Near where Khiiral died, there was another splash of liquid—red blood. It was separate from the first, large blot, and too far away to be from the same source._

_Then there was the arrow stuck in an orc's forehead, separated from most of the other cadavers._

_When Legolas was a mere elfling, he would carve shapes into the ends of his arrows. Elaborate leaves and trees graced his weapons before he even had the strength to fire them. So when Thranduil spotted the small leaflet elegantly traced along the shaft, his breath caught._

_The creature's blade was stained red, and the arrow certainly belonged to Legolas. _

* * *

_*aran-nin*—"my king" (Sindarin)_

_*yrrch*—"orcs (pl.)" (Sindarin) _

_*hir-nin*—"my lord" (Sindarin)_

* * *

Aragorn continued to watch his friend warily. He could see the façade slip from his face as the Elvenking left, eyes dipping to his hands once more. The cogs moving in the blonde's mind were clear as day to the ranger.

"It was not your fault."

The Dúnadan expected the challenging stubbornness he saw before—the flash of anger the blonde couldn't always hide. Instead, a bitter scoff escaped the prince.

"You know that is not true." Legolas' voice was cooler again, tinged with acceptance. He was calm and resolute where the human knew he certainly wasn't on the inside. Aragorn was suddenly hit with his resemblance to Thranduil.

"You had no way of knowing!" Estel raised his voice, trying to rouse a proper reaction from the other. "You made the best decisions you could have with the information you were given."

The first time they had this discussion Legolas had taken his words with some fraction of meaning. But when the human scoured the archer's expression this time, he could not find that same trust in his judgement. Nothing he could say would change the elf's mind.

In was not in his power to save Legolas from himself.

A melancholy, inconsolable Legolas he might be able to help, but a caustic, uncomplaining one… Aragorn didn't know what to do.

Legolas needed to hear it from someone else.

But for now the blonde stood, free from the ward with his shoulder immobilized. He gave no response to the ranger's outburst, his eyes unreadable and strikingly blue. Aragorn would've followed him if not for the elves still working on his leg.

Instead, he watched.

* * *

A month passed.

Aragorn was recovering at a rapid pace courtesy of the excellent healers in Mirkwood, and soon he would be able to return briefly to Rivendell in order to relay tidings of the battle and assure Lord Elrond of his wellbeing before news was caught via passing messenger instead. So as he looked forward to being reunited with his family, his healing brought about a new deadline.

He couldn't leave with the way things stood.

Legolas was growing more distant by the day. He put up a cheerful charade, one so good that only those who knew him well could see through it. If the ranger had not seen Legolas genuinely happy at some point, he would have bought into the lie as well. The elf would scowl when he thought no one was looking, his eyes would glaze over as if in sleep, and the words he spoke were always compliant and polite, but never more.

The blonde only spoke when spoken to, hardly conversing with his father, and only sharing the human's company when he was actively sought out. Aragorn was not blind, he could see Thranduil was concerned, and he could see that Legolas desperately needed a family figure. If he left now, neither would take the step towards each other.

It was after one such quiet, empty conversation with the elf that Aragorn decided to interfere.

After his extended stay in Mirkwood, he would not look at the gnarled forest in the same way. Not when it housed such a gem between its branches. The Underground Halls were beautiful indeed; not cold as he thought they might be. Slender, winding pillars held up a lofty crag of stone far above. Elegant staircases and passages crisscrossed over deep trenches, so smoothly carved and intricately planned that even those in Lórien would envy the view of the caverns.

Instead of wandering about the palace aimlessly, like he had taken to doing, Aragorn now made way with a destination in mind.

He had been told that the Elvenking frequented the gardens on the surface. While it didn't sound like something the Sindar would do, Aragorn set his sights on the greenest portion of the Halls. He knew what he was going to say likely would not put him in Thranduil's good graces, so he braced himself.

Feet echoed in the stony cavern as he ascended to ground level, his limp scarcely trimming his usual stride. In the early processes of his healing, he would have given many things for elven healing abilities, but now he was almost returned to his previous level of fitness. The thick air of the underground was thinning as he found the top floor, a refreshing breeze dancing through the wide, open concept room. Wide trunks of stone, scalloped around the edges held up the well carved roof, light flitting in and casting shadows about the pillars. To his right, green saplings were scattered in the broad dirt bed, so much lighter and happier-looking than their outdoor counterparts.

True to rumor, he spotted the tall, stoic form of the Elven lord standing between the trees, staring at nothing and pretending for the life of him to be staring at something. There was distance held in his gaze, and even as Aragorn approached, he did not stir. When the Dúnadan finally did scuff his boots loud enough to be noticed, Thranduil started slightly—eyes sharpening and posture snapping firmly into place as if the rigid rules he held himself by would make him look a little less lost.

"Pardon my interruption, _hir-nin_," Aragorn tipped his head in respect. It seemed as if the Sindar was more concerned with appearing unflustered rather than growing angry at his presence, so the ranger took it as a good a sign as any to proceed. There was no beating around the bush.

"You need to talk to him."

Eyes narrowed.

"Would you care to repeat that?" There was a dangerous edge of authority now, and Thranduil was no longer caught on the defensive. He stood to his full height, his eyes boring into Aragorn's with challenge. Obviously having a human telling him what to do was not pleasing. Aragorn wouldn't budge, however.

"You _need_ to speak to him." He left no pause for another interjection, "If you leave him alone with his demons, then you will no longer have a son to ignore!" He barked in accusation, noting how his words struck the Elvenking like a physical weapon. He gave him a moment to recover, watching with odd fascination as the blonde closed off his expression precisely how Legolas had made a habit of doing. The subject of discussion did not need to be explained, for he was falling heavily upon both their minds.

"I do not ignore him." Thranduil scoffed, prepared to turn away in dismissal, hands surely clenched beneath the billows of his sleeves. But the motion was disjointed and lingering, not fluidly graceful like usual. He was hesitant.

"You are both too alike." Aragorn lamented softly, finally seeing the exhaustion writ across the lines in the immortal's face. In that moment, the many years the elf had suffered were weighing across his shoulders and threading fatigue into his otherwise youthful features. "You think the same things."

The pitiable Elvenking shuddered to a complete halt now, disbelief and maybe a small portion of horror flashing once before dissolving into façade, so fleeting that it was hard to believe they were ever there. His mouth parted to form dispute (probably somewhere along the lines of his thoughts being private), but Aragorn saved him the trouble.

"Legolas blames himself. For all of it." The ranger did his best not to sound scolding, or like he was betraying what little trust the prince had placed in him. "It was bad before, but now…." Thranduil didn't need to be told how desolate the blonde had become, instead he settled for a truth.

"He will fade like this."

The king was visibly shaken now—he had stopped trying to hide it. The Dúnadan could finally spot the inklings of guilt he suspected were growing unchecked in Thranduil's mind, and he frowned sadly. They both needed to confront this.

* * *

_*hir-nin*—"My lord" (Sindarin)_

* * *

"How could he—"

Thranduil struggled with his words. How was it even possible? It was all so far-reaching, indirect, so _heavy_ for Legolas to have made such a connection. Was he missing something? Legolas didn't realize how much the Elvenking himself had done to destroy their family.

"He wouldn't take that upon himself. It makes no sense." The blonde decisively stated in his most kingly manner, trying to make up for the control he lost to this human. What the man thought he could say to him, the Ruler of Mirkwood, in _Lethonnel's garden_ of all places was terribly misjudged. The anger was back with a fury. But now the scraggly human had already turned to leave, turned his back _on him_.

"Just tell him that." He muttered darkly, "He would sooner vanish than admit it is breaking him."

Thranduil was taken off guard long enough to realize the ranger had already gone, leaving him stewing with his thoughts. His eyes fell back upon the familiar bark and leaves of the saplings Lethonnel had once tended to, trailing the thin shadows with confusion not befitting a ruler. Was there even a chance that this Estel was correct? Was he again too blind to prevent atrocious tragedy?

Letting out a slow, shuddering sigh, the Sindar unfolded his hands from behind his back and steeled himself.

Even if the human was wrong about this—

He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't ask.

An Elvenking never made the same mistake twice.

* * *

Aragorn's trek took him to the archery fields outdoors. After inquiring with a few Silvan elves as to the prince's whereabouts, he had been pleased to be directed thusly. If Legolas had finally reverted to practicing his marksmanship again, then perhaps there was healing yet unseen. But his hopes dimmed when he reached the location to find it clear of the blonde—other elves doggedly loading and unloading arrows instead. The human watched momentarily, about to go retrace his steps and accuse the last guard he had checked with of lying.

As he walked the short forest path between the training grounds and the palace, though, he spotted the ash-blonde head of hair perched in a tree a ways off the path. Aragorn had nearly missed him. He took a few seconds to observe the lax posture of the other, one knee bent while the other leg dangled limply over the thick branch. His head was resting against the trunk and his eyes were cast upwards at the sunlight flashing behind the canopy.

"Legolas."

The prince did not stir, looking for all of Middle Earth like a dejected elfling.

"Legolas!" The heir approached the base of the tree, projecting louder. Now the elf had his startled gaze fixed upon the ranger. There was only a moment of unguarded expression before the archer flashed a smile a beat too slow to be believable.

"Aragorn!" He acknowledged, swiftly vaulting off the high branch to land in a soft crouch. "How does your leg fare?"

"It is nearly restored." Aragorn admitted, "So much so that I believe travelling will be in order within the week. The healers have prescribed light exercise until then." Legolas nodded blankly.

"Perhaps you should go hunting then. The game is excellent this time of year." The elf suggested, and Estel took the opening.

"I would be honored if you might accompany me later this evening?" Another nod of acquiescence. "I have been told that the Elvenking was looking for you." This did get a real reaction from Legolas, and now the icy blue eyes blinked dubiously.

"He sent for me?" It shouldn't have been so saddening to hear the disbelief naked in his voice, but it was. The human made a noise of confirmation, watching him return with newfound haste to the palace. He hoped that the burdened creature might return with a lighter heart.

* * *

As Thranduil paced his quarters, tasting words and phrases on his tongue, he was surprised to hear a diffident knock rap against the widely arched doorframe. He turned towards the noise, even more surprised that Legolas himself looked tense and ready to bolt under his scrutiny. The archer had donned his outdoor tunic, and auburn leaves clung to his shoulders, reminding him of the many times he had caught the elfling sleeping among the branches as a child. Still, the king was terribly unprepared.

Of all the things Thranduil had planned to say, what came out was,

"What are you doing here?" He internally cringed, but saw his son's eyes narrow in accusation.

"Estel said that you called upon me."

That _orvelethron_**_._**

And now his son's body language was screaming that he was about to leave.

"I apologize for the miscommunication." It hurt a little that the elf looked undeniably relieved.

Mouth parted, and words failing to come, the Elvenking took a step forward. Thranduil had never been good at this sort of thing.

"No. Sit, please." Legolas stiffened once again, and the Sindar began to wonder at how uncomfortable his son was in his presence. It hadn't always been like this. The blonde made no move to actually sit, but he drifted a hair closer, expression closed off and dull, only conveying a dash of fear.

It was quiet. Thranduil had no idea how to say it.

* * *

*_Orvelethron*—"Orc-lover" (insult)(Sindarin)_

* * *

"Was it your fault?"

Legolas' mouth went dry. His body was frozen still. The question he had been dreading finally surfaced, his father expressionlessly analyzing him.

"Yes." He did not falter. He was guilty. He had just been too cowardly to face it. His eyes traced thin crevices that wove like spider-webs across the shadowed floor instead of meeting what was surely a loathing glare. The silence was deafening.

_He hates me._

Legolas knew it was coming, but the thought still tore at his insides like a knife—so much more painful than the numbness rooting within. It was far easier to not feel anything at all….

_I killed them. He knows now._

The young Thranduilion braced himself to make eye contact, slowly scraping his gaze up to meet—

Horror.

He flinched away, turning to take leave for what would be a very long time. There was no way he could handle a gaze filled with hate instead of ice.

* * *

The Elvenking's heart was in his throat, shock rendering him unable to stop the elf as he prepared to dismiss himself—but there was no way he could allow that thought to fester for a moment longer in his greenleaf's mind. His hand reached out and wound itself in Legolas' tunic sleeve.

In a single motion, he swiftly tugged the yielding body into an embrace. The younger stirred once in confusion as the king rested his chin on the crown of his skull.

"None of it was ever your fault. Ever." He assured as best as he could, pulling away so he could see the archer's face.

"You cannot say that!" Legolas took a step back, voice above everything else _angry_ and affronted. "You never knew how he—how Elidyr died!" There was a short stammer, but his words flew out as if they were well practiced, spoken with overwhelming coolness. The frightened look was back in those glazed blue orbs.

"Tell me." Thranduil attempted to close the gap that Legolas kept putting between them, dismayed when the other took another staggering step in retreat—as if his space was contaminated.

"I was in a tight spot. There were too many orcs. I kn-knew it was coming, but—" Now the blonde's voice lowered, "He took a sword meant for me. It was my mistake. If I had been faster—"

Thranduil's eyes went wide with this new information. He had always been proud of Elidyr, and to think his dying moment was spent protecting and not in regret…..it was better than the scenarios the Elvenking had relived night after night. His eyes were growing wet against his will now, and his fingers curled into his sleeves. To think that his youngest was bottling up these awful thoughts appalled him.

"That was not within your power to stop, _penneth_." He spoke softly, refraining from reaching out and scaring the prince away again.

"My actions caused _naneth_ to fade! I killed off her eldest, and then vanished for five days after disobeying orders to remain within our walls." The argument made for guilt was too rehearsed, too ingrained in the blonde's angry eyes to be lifted so easily.

"You never could have predicted the attack." Thranduil was calmer now, collected enough to realize what needed to be said. "And you did what a King would do; you risked your life for the sake of our people. I am _proud_ of that, _ion-nin_."

Despite the clenched hands and wide eyes, Legolas no longer seemed furious at himself. His mouth searched for an appropriate retort as his chest heaved.

"If anything, you should blame me." The Sindar let his own gaze dip to the stone floor, "I never realized she was worsening until she was too far gone. I _sent_ you and Elidyr on the worthless mission that was ambushed."

_And I let you believe that it was all your fault._

"I was far more responsible than you." He let the words fill the room, bounce around and echo in Legolas' head. The pause was filled with the prince's internal battle—playing out across his face as he fought to either accept or reject the proffered salvation.

"Misfortune cannot be predicted." Legolas finally muttered, as if testing the words. His shoulders trembled slightly as he ran a relieved hand through his mussed hair.

* * *

_*penneth*—"young one" (Sindarin)_

_*naneth*—"mother" (Sindarin)_

_*ion-nin*—"my son" (Sindarin)_

* * *

Legolas hadn't realized his vision was blurred until he felt a wetness on his cheeks. It hurt more now, but it was a vastly different kind of pain. He felt lighter, more firmly tethered than before. It was not hatred that resided in his the eyes of his _ada_. The king felt just as guilty as he had. As the prince glanced back upon the unreadable countenance of his _adar_, he felt the first touches of happiness stirring in his chest.

All at once he was laughing.

"You truly believe it was out of our control?"

"I do." Thranduil had a solemn smile gracing his occasionally severe features, and the blonde remembered to breathe. The fear of opprobrium and disapproval fled his body and left it exhausted from the emotional strain. The weight in his chest felt as if it never existed, and he no longer dreaded the singe of contact.

"I—You have no idea how much that means." He said quietly, "I could not stand the thought of you seeing what I had seen, thinking what I had thought." The wretched dark thoughts were a faint memory now that he remembered what the light felt like.

"I was already thinking them," the Sindar held a tint of melancholy in his smooth tone, "but not in the way that you feared." The warm hand clasped his shoulder and gave a tight squeeze.

"I told Aragorn I would go hunting with him." Legolas remembered. The verbal thought caused his father to look as if he desired to protest (protective parent as he was). "Though, considering he exaggerated the fact you were looking for me, I suppose I could back out." His mouth quirked up on one side mischievously.

The Elvenking sighed softly, but now it was a weary one rather than filled with dismay.

"You shouldn't go too far." The warning was half-hearted at best.

Legolas simply smiled as he excused himself from the chambers, calling out a farewell behind him.

* * *

_*ada/adar*—"daddy/dad" (Sindarin)_

* * *

Aragorn had been gathering his belongings for the planned expedition, finding his (now replenished) healing pack and a few other necessities. He ran a whetstone along the edge of his blade a few times, satisfied with its sharpness before sheathing it in his leather scabbard.

"Some elves might see meddling as grounds to cancel." A chiding voice rang behind him, causing the ranger to turn towards the sound. Glinting blue eyes met grey and Aragorn smiled at the reprieve he saw in them.

"Cancel if you will." Aragorn took in the genuine sentiment on the other's face, "I refuse to apologize for it. You are a bit more like yourself." Legolas merely slung his quiver over his shoulder in response, it having fully healed two weeks prior. His long bow followed suit, the finely polished wood curving against the flat of his back. An open gesture was directed towards the wide gate, and Aragorn led the way.

The red and yellow hues of the Mirkwood forest greeted them as they walked, the air chill yet the sun warm on their upturned faces. It was pleasant weather, and even the twisted trees looked a little more benign to the ranger.

"You leave at the end of the week?" Legolas broke the comfortable silence as they stepped off the path to fully immerse themselves in the brush.

"Yes, for Imladris. A trip home will do me well, and ease any concerns of the House of Elrond." The leaves crunched underfoot, "I have grown to like this region more than I expected I would."

"Mayhap you will visit someday." Legolas chuckled.

"It is possible. Somehow I feel that our paths will cross many times more." Estel trailed a hand along the bark of a gnarled branch, reading the signs of recent game. Their conversation had grown quieter so as not to startle any wildlife, footsteps ceasing to crackle.

"I feel the same. Hopefully, it will be upon better circumstances."

_**~*The End*~**_

* * *

**And so the future journey was jinxed from the start...**

**(A/N) Thanks again guys, for reading. I loved all your feedback, and I hope you drop me one last review to tell me what you thought. Recommendations for other fics are fine, too- I'm open to creative AUs.**


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